Chasing dolphins, steering by stars

Brian Jackman

Last updated at 15:28 22 September 2000

Dangling barefoot under the bowsprit, suspended between the sky and the deep blue sea in what the old-time mast-and-yards seafarers called the widows' nets, I looked down to see a dolphin playfully leaping ahead of our steel prow as it sliced through the waves.

Such are the pleasures of cruising in the Aegean, particularly when your vessel is not your average cruise ship. I was sailing on Star Flyer, the tallest of the world's tall ships, with a mainmast higher than Nelson's Column.

Like her sister ship, the Star Clipper, she is a genuine four-masted barquentine, a clipper ship rigged like those greyhounds of the sea whose names - Ariel, Storm King, Cutty Sark - were written on the wind a century ago.

Unlike her predecessors she is only six years old, built in Belgium to offer passengers what the travel trade likes to call 'soft adventure'. Spartan is not a word you would use to describe the Star Flyer's air-conditioned cabins, twin plunge pools, scrumptious food and smooth-as-silk service.

Below decks it's all polished teak and burnished brass. Up top it's a parade of nautical gizmos, able to fly her across the sea at a top speed of 17 knots, with sails that unfurl at the push of a button.

Our voyage had begun at Limassol, in Cyprus. Now the heat-hazy Turkish coast shimmered ahead of us and, with Captain Gerhard Lickfett on the bridge, we were approaching the island of Kastellorizo.

Putting Captain Lickfett in charge of the Star Flyer was an inspired decision. Tall and lean, with hawk-like features and a thousand-mile stare, he was the last man in the German merchant navy to be trained on a square-rigger. Even today he can still steer by the stars.

'Odysseus sailed these seas 3,000 years ago,' he explained. 'But of course he had no radar.'

Kastellorizo, a tiny, cultured island just a mile off the Turkish mainland, actually belongs to Greece. At the turn of the century, 14,000 people lived there, today fewer than 200 islanders remain.

What they have inherited is the finest harbour in the Eastern Mediterranean, a leftover gem from the age of Zorba, hemmed in by waterfront tavernas and sugar-cube houses with doors and shutters in 20 shades of blue.

Next stop was Rhodes where we disembarked for an orgy of sightseeing in the old walled town, built by the Crusader Knights of St John. Rhodes town is crammed with tourists. This is where Oxford Street meets the Aegean in a maze of souvenir shops, boutiques and jewellers.

In a quiet backstreet I found a simple taverna, with tables set in the shade of a vine, where lunch - Greek salad, grilled prawns, creamy yoghurt with honey and chopped nuts - cost less than a fiver.

From Rhodes we bore away under full sail, bound for the Cyclades. The meltemi was blowing - the wild summer wind that whips the Aegean into a lather of white horses. Beneath my feet I could feel the Star Flyer come alive as she rose and fell on the rolling swell.

As we sliced through the waves the sound of shaking canvas and the wind in the rigging brought an adrenaline rush of the purest kind.

The wind was still blowing as we sought the shelter of Santorini, one of the world's most spectacular islands. We lay in the shadow of its sheer cliffs but could not anchor. 'The sea is so deep,' said Captain Lickfett, 'that no anchor could reach the bottom.'

Hydra, our final destination before docking in Piraeus, is a Greek version of St Tropez, a favourite island for Athenians, who come to carouse in its tavernas or stay in the handsome stone mansions.

Yet much as I loved Greek island life what I enjoyed most was the Star Flyer herself. Like the Yankee clippers of old she must surely rank among the world's most beautiful vessels. To sail with her is to become a player in a seagoing drama - and never more so than when leaving harbour.

Up comes the anchor, out come the sails and away you go, following the dolphins out into the timeless waters of the Aegean.